The Fledgling's Wings
by pyritic-silence
Summary: At the beginning of Pern's Fifth Pass, Fort Weyr meets a mild tragedy. The aftermath is met with unexpected events as a twenty-something woman and a middle aged man find common grounds for reform, refinement and maybe that other R word.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**  
>Late Autumn of the First Turn, Fifth Pass<p>

* * *

><p>Over two weeks had passed since the tragic aerial rescue attempt and collision that claimed the lives of three dragon pairs, including Weyrwoman Belia and her dragon, Nenmiath. A midair collision of a blue dragon with the much larger queen had sent the startled young dragon between to his death, but not before the collision had startled the Thread-laced green upon Nenmiath's back into blasting the Weyrwoman with a burst of flame potent enough to render her unconscious and nearly dead. Her rider's death imminent, Nenmiath had taken herself and the injured green between.<p>

It had been Miralise's job, along with that of her Veerenth, to assist in that aerial rescue by stabilizing the injured green. They had graduated not long before from the ranks of the Weyrlings to join the queen's wing, and Belia had immediately set them to the task of practicing aerial rescues. After months of constant practice, Belia finally found her youngest junior pair to be 'passable' at this task. This was Miralise's first. It had turned into an overwhelming and unmitigated tragedy. When the blue had collided with Nenmiath, Veerenth had lost her grip on the green. This had allowed the green to slide forward and singe Belia to death.

The unpalatable loss of a fertile queen dragon still clung firmly to the Weyr, its dragons still grey-tinged in melancholic lethargy in those two weeks. The Weyr was in such a state of despair that Benden had temporarily sent a wing to aid Fort. With the death of any other dragon, the depressive aura would have passed within days. Not so with the death of a queen, the senior queen, the Weyr's mother. In her own distress, Miralise was certain that nearly every rider in the Weyr blamed her for Belia's demise. Certainly the Weyrleader J'vrex felt this way, having berated and punished her for it. If she placed so much a toe out of line, the melodramatic Weyrleader lamented repeatedly how a queen dragon would never allow her rider to take the beating she deserved.

Miralise had been grounded from active flight and confined to the records room, tasked with organizing and recording the day to day activity of the Weyr. As the primarily witness of the tragedy, she had been tasked with recording the event to its minutiae. Draft after draft had been deemed unacceptable to J'vrex. The other queenriders had been tasked, along with the Wingleaders, with investigating the tragedy. Miralise had found that both Belia and the Headwoman, Tadrine, were lax in their recordkeeping duties.

Today, still grounded and confined, Miralise set herself once more to the onerous task of organizing the mess Belia and Tadrine had made of the Fortian records. She herself had been tasked with learning domestic management in her parents' holding, and she found the records to be horribly mismanaged. Prior to her Search she had been a potential bride for the young Lord of Southern Boll. With reticence on his part and undue pressure from Fort's Weyrleaders, the Lord of Boll had released her family from their obligations and Miralise's duty had changed: Impress to make Boll proud.

With days spent in the records room, tallying and cataloguing the domestic necessities of the Weyr, Miralise found she longed for the days of her late adolescence and her former lover. Today, those feelings were unusually strong and she could find no real reason for it. Although, J'vrex had been unusually harsh with her that morning, so perhaps that was why she longed for home and old comforts.

"Mira! Mira!" came the frantic voice of her fellow queenrider, Dita. Dita was not much older than Miralise at twenty-five, but she had ridden her queen much longer, a queen now on the sands with a clutch. The woman came to a breathy halt at the entrance of the records room, and Miralise stood abruptly. Her long legs carried her across the distance to her winded friend. She reached out a steadying hand to the other woman, her concern outweighing her usual distaste for physical contact.

"Dita? Whatever is wrong?"

Dita reached a disparaging hand up to Miralise's unruly hair, wetting her thumb to remove the dirt smudges on Mira's face. Dita gave the younger woman a once-over and shook her head at Miralise's attire. Those gestures were quickly followed by a shrug, "Not, really, that appearances matter in the haste of a mating flight."

"Who's rising, Dita? Do I need to wake Veerenth and leave?"

Dita gave her a pitying but kind look, "Dearest Mira, no. Veerenth will rise. I can feel it. I know it. I know what the bronzes are saying, and, dear, the bronzes are starting to assemble at the feeding grounds. Let us get you to your weyr. That's where the bronzeriders will be expecting you when their dragons begin blooding. You remember what Belia and I taught you, of course?"

Mira nodded.

"Good, I won't patronize you by running through the litany again, but come! Hurry!" Dita tugged on her arm and the pair raced along the path to Miralise's quarters. Dita talked when she could, "You know what this means … this flight is very important. This Weyr needs this flight. And you will be the Weyrwoman of Fort."

Miralise knew that Dita was right on both accounts once she saw Veerenth. The gold, sunning and asleep on her ledge, was glowing. Miralise reached out to the queen's mind and felt the sleep presence, but with it … something more. Was this the root of her longing? She shuddered as she passed into the inner room of her weyr. Veerenth was too young to rise to mate, wasn't she, at two-and-a-half Turns? As Miralise mulled over these concerns internally, Dita settled her into one of the chairs just as the bronzeriders began parading into the inner weyr.

J'vrex slammed his riding gloves onto the table. "Dita, leave."

"I will stay as long as Mira needs me," she coldly told him.

"I'm the Weyrleader, and I order you to leave."

"With any luck, after today's flight you won't be the Weyrleader any longer."

Any response from J'vrex was drowned out amidst Miralise's gasp and the sounds of strong wing beats from the ledge. Veerenth was awake and headed to the feeding grounds. The throng of bronzeriders pressed about Miralise as Dita reluctantly withdrew. Miralise conquered her queen's will to eat flesh as she had been taught, and then as Veerenth was aloft, she was immediately and intimately within her dragon's mind. Veerenth flew high and well but was easily caught by one of the craftier males - the bronze of the borrowed Benden wingleader! Miralise found herself once more, immediately, within her own body - and, unfortunately, in the arms of a man she hardly knew, a man twice her age.

She wanted to fight it, but she knew from her education as a queenrider what was necessary and surrendered to it.


	2. Flights of Fancy

**Chapter 1**: Flights of Fancy

* * *

><p>Her immediate moment of consciousness was one of oppressive and unbridled terror, cradled against the firm, naked body of the man whose dragon had claimed hers in flight. One of his muscular arms encircled her midsection in a vice-like grip, somehow holding her securely against him despite the soft snores that suggested he was deep in slumber.<p>

Taking deep breaths to reassure herself, Miralise managed to relax. The fog of her own sleepiness and fear receded, and she reached out for Veerenth's mind. That the dragon was deeply sleeping was not at all surprising considering her exertions that afternoon. Miralise's own experience that day had left her exhausted after the flight and its human aftermath. She could not say that she had any complaints; N'thal had been gentle and thorough, and both of them had collapsed in ecstasy and exhaustion following their coupling.

Miralise was more concerned about waking up next to a man than she was concerned with bedding a near stranger. Never in her life had she shared a bed with another person. Her trysts with Lord Boll as a teenager had never culminated in sleeping beside him, and since her arrival at the Weyr, until the flight, Miralise had never even had relations with any other man. Now, she found herself awake next to a superficial acquaintance, contemplating escape. How could she move his arm without waking him?

N'thal was heavily muscular and lean. From the firmness of his body against hers and from her delicately probing touch against his arm, Miralise decided the man probably hadn't a spare ounce of fat on his frame. Turns of training did that to most dragonmen and weyrwomen, but her own Turns in the Weyr had done little to whittle down her curves into muscle. It was true that Miralise was more toned than she had been before coming to the Weyr, and while no one could call her fat, she certainly would never have the slender grace her sisters possessed.

Snorting at her mental distraction, Miralise returned her mind to the task at hand: escaping N'thal's grasp. A light shove of his arm proved useless. The bronzerider - no, the Weyrleader - nestled more firmly against her, nuzzling against her nape. He was hopelessly asleep. Miralise wriggled beneath the weight of his arm. Finally, she managed to grasp the arm with both of her hands and gave it a hard shove. With a snort, N'thal rolled over, at last freeing Miralise from his grasp. Miralise remained still, listening for signs of wakefulness from her Weyrleader. Luckily for her, the man was still asleep.

In deference of N'thal, Miralise only opened the bedside glowbasket to allow her to find her discarded garments. She slid out of bed, gathered and donned her clothes, and then tasked herself with picking up N'thal's garments. As quietly as possible, she folded his tunic and trousers. She tiptoed to the opposite side of her bed, placing the garments and his belt upon the nightstand on that side of the bed. His socks and boots she placed on the floor in front of the nightstand.

Ignoring her own discarded socks, Miralise slid her feet into her own boots and grabbed a coat from the stand beside the dividing curtain. She pushed it aside, noting that Veerenth was not on her couch. The moonlight poured into the outer weyr, and Miralise noted the hulking forms of two sleeping dragons nestled side-by-side upon the ledge. Miralise snuck past them and along the pathway to the Weyrwoman's weyr, pausing briefly to gaze at the empty couch. Would she and Veerenth now occupy this weyr? The thought was immediately met with guilt and grief, and Miralise entered the records room in an attempt to halt the unwanted emotions.

With the absent deftness of familiarity, Miralise opened the glowbaskets of the records room. Other than the shuttered glowbaskets, the room retained the conditions she had so hastily abandoned it in that afternoon. Miralise laughed to herself and then quickly bit down on her lower lip. J'vrex had thought placing Miralise in the records room was punishment, but for her the process of reading, reviewing and reproducing records was cathartic for her. The only annoyance for her in the process was reorganizing the mess both the Headwoman and former Weyrwoman had made of Fort Weyr's recordkeeping process.

Miralise browed the shelves until she found the records pertaining to mating flights. She hefted the stack to a nearby worktable and set to the task of recording the day's major event into its place in the logs, noting the date and that Veerenth had been flown by bronze Qualth, marking a change in the Weyr's leadership. She cleaned the pen and closed the ink, and then out of curiosity and personal therapeutic need, began to read through the Weyr's mating flight records. She read and read, going nearly a century back into the records, until she slumped forward and fell asleep.

* * *

><p>N'thal woke slowly, his mind clouded in the fog of pre-wakefulness. He rolled onto his back, staring up at the stone ceiling as his mind dimly recollected the events that had led him to his current whereabouts. His hand reached out to feel the cold emptiness of the bed beside him. The girl had already left some time ago, then. What was her name? Miralise. The young weyrwoman J'vrex blamed for Belia's death, who was now his Weyrwoman.<p>

No one alive today could take the blame for the loss of Belia and Nenmiath. The evidence supported N'thal's supposition as it had since his arrival from Benden to Fort after the tragedy. It was a tragic accident caused not by Miralise's inexperience at rescue assistance, but by the inexperience of a young blue dragon.

N'thal ran a hand through his dark hair. They were, all of them, inexperienced at fighting Thread, but the blue dragon had only just been tapped into a wing. Since his arrival, N'thal had also noticed that something was amiss with the discipline of the wings at Fort. As the new Weyrleader, he would need to identify the problems and rectify them. That would require the support of Miralise.

If, of course, J'vrex hadn't poisoned the rest of the riders against her. The lack of discipline had to stem from the former Weyrleader, N'thal decided. J'vrex and Belia had been the Weyrleaders of Fort for nearly two decades. N'thal pondered how Fort's riders and support personnel would accept his leadership. Although they had accepted him and his wing as support during the tragedy, N'thal was not Fortian.

His bronze winning a leadership flight while at Fort had never occurred to him, although perhaps the opportunity had occurred to Benden's leaders. After siring multiple clutches on every junior queen at Benden, Qualth had been grounded from all but leadership flights. Perhaps that, rather than his skill as wingleader, was why Benden's leaders had loaned his wing to Fort. The thought was more than somewhat distasteful to him, and he immediately quelled that line of thinking, pushing his thoughts instead towards curiosity of Miralise's whereabouts.

With less deference to his dragon than Miralise had for hers, N'thal slipped out of bed and queried Qualth for Miralise's location. The sleepy response indicated that she had fallen asleep in the records room. N'thal glanced around for his garments, smiling ruefully to himself when he noticed that they had been folded on the nightstand on his side of the bed. He opened the glow basket, pulled the day-old clothes on, buckled his belt and then sat down on the edge of the bed to put on his socks and boots.

As he made his way into the outer weyr, N'thal realized that the last of the two moons would be setting soon; it was nearly pre-dawn and the chill quickly permeated his tunic. He hugged his arms to his chest as he followed the path to the senior queen's weyr and the records room. The room was eerily calm, quiet but strange amidst the light of the glows. He made his way through the room, easily finding the sleeping form of the young Weyrwoman at one of the tables. He leaned over to peer down at the records on the table. Flight records. So, the silly young thing had come in to record her dragon's flight and fallen asleep going through hundreds of Turns of flight records?

"Miralise?" he queried, the surrounding records keeping his deep baritone from reverberating in the room. When the sound of her name did not wake her, he placed a gentle hand on the slope of her shoulders and called her name again. She started awake, sitting upright and peering up at him, bleary-eyed and red-faced. Clean and awake, N'thal decided, she would be a rather pretty young woman.

"Weyrleader?" she asked him somewhat groggily.

"It's nearly morning, and it appears you've slept here most of the night, probably a bit uncomfortably. We should get you back to your weyr, and while you bathe, I'll order breakfast for two. We have a few things to discuss."

Miralise nodded in response and pushed out of her chair. N'thal was momentarily surprised at her height, as he had been in the moments before the flight; most women were barely at eye-level with his chest, but Miralise was at least tall enough to reach his shoulder. She stretched and then N'thal politely offered her his arm. She refused him, instead pulling her coat about her body and striding out of the room.

Recognizing that she was in no mood for talking, N'thal merely followed her back to her weyr.


	3. Business as unUsual

**Chapter 2**: Business as (un)Usual

* * *

><p>N'thal's behavior bordered on undue solicitude as he prepared the small table in Miralise's inner weyr for breakfast and called down the service shaft for a hearty breakfast for two. He was acutely aware of the young woman's physical shyness towards him, and as such, never trespassed upon her as she bathed. When she emerged from the bath, N'thal courteously turned his back towards her and made setting the table with the fresh foodstuff from the service shaft his utmost important task.<p>

"Fresh klah, fresh bread, fresh fruits from the autumn tithes, cheese and a few fresh meatrolls," N'thal commented as he placed the breakfast fare upon the table. His tone was more or less bland but faintly cheerful. "Every Weyr eats well now that we are in a Pass. I remember eating less palatable food as a youngster and weyrling due to doubting holders."

"You shouldn't be too hard upon the holders, Weyrleader. Dragonriding is not easy, but laboring in the fields is not an easy task," responded Miralise somewhat coolly as she stepped into N'thal's view. "I can understand the resentment of holders during the Interval when they see the products of their labor going where they see no immediate return upon their investment. Then, of course, the results of a Pass's beginning bring perspective to holders and laborers."

Had N'thal not been appalled at Miralise's appearances, he would have smiled at his young Weyrwoman's response. However, given the circumstances, N'thal merely looked somewhat appalled. Miralise, however, proved hypersensitive to facial expressions, and withdrew her hand from the chair back in an apprehensive gesture.

"Have I said something wrong, Weyrleader?"

N'thal cleared his throat and shook his head. "No, Miralise. I think you will make a very wise counselor in the following months and Turns. I'm just shocked that a weyrwoman, very junior though she may have been a day ago, was ever allowed to wear tattered and patched tithe sack for clothes."

"Oh, Headwoman Tadrine said there was nothing available in my size, and that no one could be spared from their other duties to make me anything that was more than merely presentable. Besides which, the fabric could never be spared in the lengths necessary to fit me in," Miralise responded softly, although her shoulders began to relax. She glanced down at her clothing and after a moment's inspection, wrinkled her nose. "I suppose you are right. This clothing really isn't appropriate for a weyrwoman, much less THE Weyrwoman of a Weyr. I've just been patching up my old shifts from home. My flight leathers are in a much better state, you should know, but I don't wear them unless I really must. You know, I don't even have anything fit for a Gather."

"That's a shame, with a figure like yours," was N'thal's contemplative response as he walked around the table to pull out Miralise's chair. "Take a seat. I'm not a total oaf, and I do know that a great Lady, no matter how she's dressed, ought to be seated first."

His solicitous behavior elicited a blush from the young Weyrwoman. She sat into the chair and allowed N'thal to push it in for her. "What did you mean, about my figure? My sisters matured into the sort of figures weavers love to dress."

"You mean they have figures that are the easiest to dress," N'thal told her gently as he took the seat across from her. "But, a weaver worth his or her salt would be thrilled to design a gather dress for a woman with your frame. Meanwhile, we'll have to find a seamstress in the Weyr willing and able to make something for you. We cannot have a Weyrwoman dressed in rags."

"What do you mean, though, about my figure? I'm tall and a bit thick."

N'thal motioned for her to serve herself. "Tall, yes. Thick? Overall, no. In the right places, yes."

"What do you mean, in the right places?" Miralise asked him as she carefully placed bread, cheese and fruits onto her plate. The tone of her voice was a mixture of appall and curiosity.

N'thal grimaced. "Perhaps breakfast isn't the appropriate time to discuss this. I hadn't thought to be discussing women's figures and fashions with you, to be honest. Let me put it this way, you're a very attractive woman, whether you believe that or not. The clothing you dress in is simply not very flattering, but that's easily remedied given your status. Clothing is an easier fix than bad manners, poor posture and ill temperament, none of which you seem to have. You know how some weyrwomen are."

Miralise, sensing N'thal's wish to change subjects, asked somewhat meekly,"Weyrleader, what would you like on your plate?"

"Miralise, dear, I can serve myself. You needn't busy yourself with my needs," N'thal said with something of a laugh, smiling pleasantly at her. As if to prove the point, he served himself. "Now, Miralise. I have a few requests of you. No! Don't get that look on your face. Hear me out first. My first request is that you would, please, in person, call me N'thal. For all intents and purposes, we are equals. Your role is to support me and mine is to support you. I will very often need your counsel on matters. If you need mine, I will help you as I can. Can you do that? Call me by my name rather than my title while we are in person?"

"Yes, N'thal," Miralise responded with a somewhat playful smile. Their eyes met briefly, and she dropped her gaze with a blush.

"That's settled then," said N'thal. He poured Miralise and then himself a mug of klah, and then dug into his breakfast. To N'thal, the silence they ate in was companionable, although Miralise rarely gazed up at him. He finished his meal before she finished hers, and quickly poured himself a second mug of klah.

"There are other matters I would like to discuss, but not personal matters," N'thal began slowly, seeing if he could catch Miralise's attention with those words. When she set her fork down, he motioned for her to continue eating. "Keep eating, please, but if you have something to say please jump in. We shouldn't have Threadfall over the region for a few more days, and I wish to do a review of the wings and wingleaders. Fort's wings appear to lack discipline, at least to my eyes."

"That's probably true," Miralise commented softly. After pausing to collect her thoughts and formulate her words, the words tumbled out, "I know we have the worst death record so far this Turn of all the Weyrs. I think ... I think that's because J'vrex only took himself and Belia seriously, and Belia's only care was to have pretty things. Her brother is the Lord of Ruatha, you know, and she felt that being a Ruathan Weyrwoman meant that ... that she was above everyone else. J'vrex dipped heavily into the Weyr's coffers and stores to commission jewelry and clothing for her. Belia, Tadrine and J'vrex's records don't match up with the tithe records. They weren't very good at covering their tracks. They would list tithe receipts in the records, but also file those receipts. The numbers really just don't match up."

N'thal quelled the horror he felt at such a revelation; he had always been taught that dragonriders ought to avoid excess. So J'vrex had been using the Weyr's possessions and marks to stay in Belia's favors? He found the lowness of it distasteful.

"Miralise, do you think you can work on a summary of the discrepancies in the records? I'm going to make sure Belia's weyr is kept as-is for the moment until we can have someone assess the value of her possessions. In the meantime, starting not today but tomorrow I would like us to begin interviewing the wingleaders. I'm considering demoting J'vrex."

"That would probably be ideal," murmured Miralise as she glanced down at her plate and finished her breakfast.


	4. An Unusual Event

**Chapter 3**: An Unusual Event

* * *

><p>"Thank you, Miralise, for compiling these," said N'thal as he leaned over the Weyrwoman to read the tallies she had compiled. She glanced up at him, smiling, and then when her cheeks flushed, she glanced back down to the records.<p>

Miralise cleared her throat and tapped a spot in the middle of the hide. "These are Lord Balidan of Ruatha's assessments of what he and his father had given his sister. After I cross referenced with the Smiths to make sure that he was in fact telling the truth, I also had the Smiths copy records of everything that J'vrex and Belia had commissioned from them."

She paused for a moment longer than N'thal expected, and he urged her to continue.

"Sometimes the Smiths had the gemstones in stock, but I also had to cross reference with the records that the miners kept. J'vrex paid for some of the gems with marks, and other times he bartered with Weyr supplies – grains, salted meats, fresh fruits – when the tithes were fresh! Then I went back to the Smiths, and they accounted for what J'vrex had bartered there as well!"

"And do these account for most of the discrepancies between the tithe manifests, the marks in the coffer, and the records that Belia and Tadrine kept?"

"Yes, that accounts for most of it. Some marks were diverted to purchasing Belia new dresses."

"How far back do these changes go?"

"About eight Turns, when Belia first became Weyrwoman."

"Are you planning on dismissing Tadrine?"

"I wanted to discuss that with you over dinner this evening."

A single rueful bark of laughter escaped N'thal's lips as he stood up. "And I wanted to go over my assessments of the Wingleaders."

"There's no reason we can't do both, you know," Miralise told him didactically.

"True," he responded, reaching down to move an escaped lock of hair back behind Miralise's ear. She looked up at him, shocked, and blushed. He smiled down at her. "You did wonderful work with these records. I'm going to have to decide what to do with J'vrex, but I have a surprise for you this afternoon."

"A surprise?" she questioned, brow line quizzical.

"This will not be taken out of the Weyr's coffers or out of the Weyr's stores. I spoke to Masterweaver Algon, telling him of your clothing predicament."

Miralise groaned and placed her head in her palms.

"No, no, none of that," stated N'thal with a chuckle. "He wants to design your gown for the Hatching, and to have patterns made for your size. I sent him the measurements that were taken before the last Fall. I'm having one of the weyrlings bring back fabric swaths, and you're to pick the two you like the most."

"Elenye is almost done with the first of a few shifts, for clothing for me to wear around the Weyr when I'm not in my leathers."

N'thal shifted on his feet, and then glanced back down at Miralise. "Oh, did you send back the Ruathan jewelry?"

"Sent with a Weyrling this morning. I wanted it gone."

"Good. Let's go back to your weyr for an early lunch. We can discuss the Headwoman issue while we eat."

* * *

><p>The brief discussion on the Headwoman and a long lunch comprised of jocular banter were followed by an impromptu coupling that neither participant had expected would occur. As Miralise lay naked in N'thal's arms, her head resting on his bare chest, his muscular arms surrounding her, she idly traced a finger from his collarbone down his pecs, then back up again.<p>

"How many lovers have you had?" she asked him, lifting her eyes and chin to look into his eyes. The words were soft and innocuous.

"I lost count in my youth, but I settled down in my thirties," N'thal responded.

"Oh, and you're forty-four now?"

"Yes."

"What happened to the woman you weyrmated?"

"She died four Turns ago giving birth to my youngest."

"Oh, that's very sad. How many children do you have?"

"Five. Three girls and two boys. The eldest is a young man, your age, and Impressed a brown at Benden when he was fifteen."

The silence that followed was languid and companionable.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Go ahead."

"How long did it take you to take another lover after your weyrmate's death?"

N'thal shifted and looked away from Miralise, removing his arms from around her.

"I'm sorry for asking," she said quickly, diverting her gaze from him.

"No, it's alright. You're the first woman I've touched since her death."

"Oh."

"Qualth was always grounded from mating flights, save the leadership flights, at Benden because he was too good at catching queens."

"What did you do after the leadership flights, then, when Qualth didn't win?"

"My right hand functions pretty well."

"Oh."

"Promise me something, Miralise."

"Anything."

"If you become pregnant by me, take a trip _between_. The women I sired children on all had long, bloody labors."

"But, I –"

"You'll find other men willing to give you children, and as long as you do it discreetly, I don't mind you taking those men to your bed. So, promise me."

"I promise." Miralise rolled away from her Weyrleader.


End file.
